Frozen Shards
by Anysia
Summary: A collection of Frozen drabbles/short fics from Tumblr. Largely Kristanna, some character studies. [Ratings and genres will vary — check chapter headings for more info.]
1. The Scent of a Man

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristoff is sweaty after work, and Anna kind of likes it.

**[KristoffxAnna, T, humor]**

* * *

**"The Scent of a Man"**

Sven huffed and nudged impatiently at the back of Kristoff's legs as the ice harvester trudged slowly towards the castle.

"I know, boy," Kristoff sighed, running a hand through his hair and frowning at the slick feel of sweat against his fingertips. "It's been a long day for both of us. Just a little farther and you can eat all the carrots you want, okay?"

Sven butted happily against his side and trotted ahead with his tongue lolling about every which way. Kristoff smiled and shook his head as he went. _Reindeers. So easy to please. _

But then, Sven probably deserved an extra pound or two of carrots after the day they'd had. It was the height of summer, peak harvesting season, and royal decree had given Kristoff substantially more business than he'd had before he became Icemaster General, or whatever Elsa and Anna had decided to call the not-really-a-thing thing that had seen his coffers double in weight almost overnight.

That was fine by him, of course — though he'd never had too much use for all things material, he'd been plenty glad for his resoled boots that didn't leak nearly as much as the old ones — but more business meant more ice, and more ice meant substantially more work.

Kristoff rolled his shoulders experimentally and winced at the slight twinge of pain that shot through his deltoids. He'd overdone it. No question. He was no stranger to hard work, adored it, in fact, but his back and legs were fairly screaming from his overzealous exertion. There was just something to the whistling swing of the pickaxe and the clean, cold crunch of splitting ice that overrode all sense of time and physical limitation, and he'd known from the moment he and Sven had packed up for the night he'd be paying for this one.

_On top of that…_ Kristoff tugged at the sleeve of his sweater and sniffed it, grimacing as he did. Not good. It was much warmer in the valley than it had been above the tree line, and he could feel a slow, unpleasant trickle of sweat between his shoulderblades. Combined with an unusually-productive and sweaty workday, he was, well, a bit more _fragrant_ than he preferred.

True, he'd never been all too concerned with cleanliness, but ever since he'd traded the familiar barn-bouquet of hay, dung, and cedarwood for the castle's fresh linens and sea air and… whatever those weird little flower-things Anna liked to have all over the place, he had no idea what they were called, he'd been far more self-conscious about his grubby hands and the dirt behind his ears and the last time he'd washed his socks (which he was fairly sure was always a few days past what it ought to be — or weeks, whatever, who cared about socks). Everything about the castle was so_ clean_, with a seemingly-endless army of people to keep it that way, everything freshly-laundered and scrubbed and stinking of flowers and lace (lace did have a smell, he'd decided — it smelled prim and dull and very, very proper. He hated it).

But there was a nice middle ground between the barn and the lace-smell, of clean soap and shaving lather and not-quite-perfectly-laundered clothing, and that was where he liked to stay. Not that he much minded the smell of sweat and leather and damp fur — it reminded him of work, and mountains, and ice, and he quite loved all three. But he felt grimy and just a hair further north of gross than he liked, and so with the thought of a hot bath and fresh clothes on his mind, he sighed in relief as he reached the castle gates.

"Go on, buddy," Kristoff said, patting Sven's flank as a waiting stablehand took his harness. "Carrots," he said meaningfully to the boy, nodding his head towards Sven. "Lots of 'em."

The stablehand led Sven off, and Kristoff stretched, closing his eyes as he made his way into the courtyard. _Now it's time for a nice, long, hot bath and a quiet evening of…_

"Kristoff!"

He turned, eyes still closed, and held out his arms, barely moving under the warm weight that launched into them.

"Hey," Anna said brightly, twining her arms around his neck.

"Hey yourself," Kristoff said, pressing a tired kiss to her forehead.

"Long day?"

"Mm. That obvious?"

"I just know you," Anna said, and he couldn't stop his features from mirroring the soft smile she gave him. "Want me to get down?"

"You weigh all of five pounds, Anna, you're fine."

She laughed and tucked her head in against his chest. "I missed you."

"You just saw me this morning."

"I'm still allowed to _miss_ you," she said, closing her eyes and snuggling against him. "Mm. You smell good."

Kristoff stared at her, at the pleased smile on her lips, the gentle curl of her hands against his sweater, and he raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You do. You smell really good. _Manly_." Anna tilted her head up to grin at him, eyes bright and mischievous.

"…Anna, I spent a solid twelve hours splitting ice, and I haven't stopped sweating since Sven and I got to the valley. I smell like _sweat_."

"_Manly_ sweat."

"…no, I'm pretty sure it's just the regular kind."

"No, seriously," Anna said, reaching up to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I can't explain it. You smell like… well, like… I don't know, just _manly_. It's really, really nice."

"…I think you're making this a little more overly-romantic than it should be."

"I am not! It's like… cedar and mountain air and…"

"…sweat, reindeer fur, and pine tar," Kristoff finished.

"And you," Anna said firmly, a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "You smell like you. Like… familiar and comfortable and just… _Kristoff_." She smiled. "I like it. I like you."

"You'll probably like me more after a bath."

"I don't know…" Anna said, toying with the fur at his collar. "There's something kind of appealing about it. It's all rough and rugged and…"

"Sweaty. You keep forgetting sweaty."

Anna rolled her eyes and pulled him down into a kiss then, pressing her hands to his most-assuredly-sweaty chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her higher. He was sure he was probably dripping sweat onto her nicely-laundered gown, smudging sweaty fingerprints onto the perfectly-ironed lace detailing, but, well, who was he to argue with the princess?

Kristoff closed his eyes and shuddered slightly at the light slide of her tongue against his before she pulled back, just far enough. "I _like _it," she said against his lips, and her eyes had a sparkling glint and her voice a husky warmth that she only got when she… well, really,_ really_ liked something. A lot. A _whole_ lot.

_I've fallen in love with a madwoman. _

"So, just to clarify," Kristoff said, hoisting Anna into his arms and carrying her bridal-style into the castle, shaking his head slightly, "I'm completely sweaty and, honestly, pretty damn gross, and I probably smell more like a barn than Sven does, and you, Princess Anna, are somehow all over this."

"Keep making fun of me and I'll be all _under _this," she said, crossing her arms over her chest before a flash of horror crossed her face and Kristoff nearly dropped her against his sudden choke of laughter.

"Oh my… I did _not_ mean it like that… like… ooh. Um. You know."

"…you're really, really weird, Anna."

"_You're_ weird."

"I'm not the one practically licking the sweat off your chest."

It was Kristoff's turn to flush in horror as Anna squeaked and nearly fell backwards out of his arms. "Um… not that I'm… not that I wouldn't if you _wanted_ to… oh gods, this is, uh, not coming out right, _at all_…"

"It's fine," Anna said quickly, her face nearly the same shade as her hair. "I, uh… yes. That happened. Okay. Um. So, uh, where are you taking me?"

"I'm dropping your weird self off at your weird room so I can go have a not-weird bath and get my not-nice, not-sexy sweat off me."

Anna huffed, thumping him lightly on the chest as they reached her room and Kristoff set her down gently.

"_Well_," Anna said, her pointed, confident tone undermined somewhat by her deepening blush, "I _was_ going to point out that there is a very large and not-weird bath in my room that you'd be more than welcome to use… but since I'm so _weird_ and all…" She grinned at him and disappeared through the doors to her room, closing them behind her.

Kristoff stared at the doors for a long, long moment.

"…I have no idea what the hell just happened," he said to himself, resting his forehead against the wood paneling.

He jumped, eyes widening as Anna suddenly re-appeared at the door, her hair unbound, one bare, freckled shoulder peeking out from a loosely-bound bathrobe. "Coming?" she asked, biting her lip and staring up at him through her eyelashes.

Kristoff couldn't help but grin at her and pull her in close for a quick kiss before he slid through the doors, carefully shutting them behind him. "You're still really, really weird, you know," he said, trying to keep his fingers from shaking as he peeled away the (still very sweaty but if Anna was okay with it…) layers of his harvesting outfit and Anna disappeared into the bathroom. The air seemed too-warm against his bare chest, and only seemed to grow warmer at the flash of Anna's bare legs through the bathroom doorway.

When Anna re-emerged, he could hear the rush of running water behind her. "Be honest — you love me," she said, grinning and attempting to lean against the doorjamb in a seductive pose, but in far-too-typical Anna fashion, missing it entirely and falling over into a pile of flailing limbs and terrycloth.

Kristoff sighed, shaking his head and smiling as he reached down to pull her up, easily hefting her weight into his arms and carrying her into the bathroom. "I do love you," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Love you too."

"But you're still weird."

"And you're _sweaty_."

"See, now, that's what I've been telling you."


	2. A Not-Quite-Close Shave

**A/N: **Tumblr meme fill: _jawline kiss_.

**[KristoffxAnna, K, humor]**

* * *

**"A Not-Quite-Close Shave"**

Kristoff has grown used to indulging Anna's whimsies in the months that they've spent together.

He'd accidentally broken a chandelier when Anna wanted to know just how high up he could throw her (and helped her pick the glass out of her hair and explain things to Elsa afterwards). He'd counted all of her visible freckles when she wanted to know just how many she had (and privately counted the ones not seen by anyone but the two of them, at least if he had anything to say about it). He'd even taken her harvesting once, even though her one attempt to swing a pickaxe had seen her fall over backwards into the snow and she'd gone to sit in the sleigh and sulk until he'd shown her the chocolate krumkakes he'd brought her for lunch.

Anna has, in short, had many whimsies. Largely because Anna is, in a word, strange. But she's strange and _his_, and that alone is reason enough to keep indulging her.

This time, however…

Kristoff shuts his eyes at the first touch of cool metal against his jaw. "So you've never done this before, huh," he says, proud that he manages to keep the fear out of his voice.

(…well, most of it, anyway.)

"Nope," Anna says, her tongue peeking out from one corner of her lips as she narrows her eyes in concentration, pressing the razor to his skin. "But I've always wanted to."

_I knew I should have grown a beard when I had the chance. _"Is it seriously that fascinating?"

"Well…" Anna says, carefully swiping the razor down, "I just never have to _do _it. And you look so _manly _when you do."

"Great, so tell you what, you just hand me the sharp thing and you can watch me be manly to your heart's content."

"Oh hush, you big baby."

A retort springs to his lips, but he thinks better of expressing it when Anna has the razor so close to his throat. Instead, he tries to stay as still as humanly possible, breathes shallowly, and reminds himself that he loves Anna very, very, _very _much.

She's silent as she works, carefully contouring the razor over his cheeks and jawline, even taking his chin in one hand to shave above his upper lip (she rolls her eyes affectionately at the obvious flash of panic across his face). Fear slowly begins to give way to a comfortable quiet, nothing but the quiet _shk _of the razor, the swish of water, the contrast of cool metal and Anna's soft, warm hands.

"Voila!" she says finally, setting the razor down by the basin with a flourish. She hands him a small mirror and smiles. "And don't you look handsome?"

Kristoff flips the mirror over, takes one look at his reflection, glances at Anna, and bursts out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Anna asks, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Anna… did you put a _blade _in that razor?"

"What? Of course I did, I'm not…" Her eyes widen, and one twitches slightly. "Oh. Um…" She smiles helplessly, a flush rising to her cheeks. "Oops?"

He can't help it, she's just so adorable when she's flustered, and he laughs again, full and deep, and pulls her into his arms, rubbing his still-stubbly cheek against hers.

"Sorry," she says, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth underside of his jaw. "Want me to try again?"

"Tell you what — I'll track down a blade and you can watch _me_ shave."

"Deal. Oh! Since this didn't work out, can I try braiding your hair later? I think it should _just _be long enough."

"Sure, why not?" he says, leaning down to nuzzle her jaw. "I think you need a shave first, though. Here, hand me that thing."

"Very funny."


	3. Slapshot

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristoff and Anna play a hockey game with the trolls, which would be easier if Anna didn't insist on playing forward, and getting the puck every single time, and, well, being so damn adorable.

**[KristoffxAnna, K, humor]**

* * *

**"Slapshot"**

The cool crisp slice of his skates against the ice sounds in Kristoff's ears, familiar and comforting, and he taps his stick against the ice impatiently and _goddammit, either pass or __**cover**__, Sven…_

The reindeer pushes the puck to him with his muzzle, and Kristoff smiles to himself. _Right on the tape, good boy,_ he thinks, starting up the ice. Not every reindeer could manage the butterfly, especially against Bulda's surprisingly strong slapshot, but he and Sven had been playing against the trolls long enough that he could probably see that one-timer coming a mile off.

"Kristoff!" Anna calls from down the ice, wobbling on her skates, frowning as she's lightly checked by one of the younger trolls. "I'm open!"

The eternal dilemma, the one that's plagued him all game as Kristoff skates up with the puck, biting his lip. She's nowhere near open — she has at _least _three trolls on her, he doesn't have a clear passing lane, and it's pretty much a guaranteed turnover if he tries to get the puck to her. And Cliff has slipped into the neutral zone, a cagey grin on his features as he taps his stick, unnoticed.

But every time he _doesn't _pass to Anna she looks so_ hurt_, as if it's a personal slight instead of part of the game, and she pouts and skates in wobbly circles and she didn't even hug him when he'd scored and she'd actually taken the time to skate over and ask why he wouldn't let her play and did he think she was weak or something and _god, _it would be so much easier if she would just stop biting her lip like that…

Kristoff sighs, watching Anna's shoulders slump slightly in defeat, and she tilts her head, staring at him, and _oh fine, you just __**have **__to be adorable, don't you_…

He's always played stay-at-home defense for a reason — he's big and broad and can throw a hit like nobody's business — and he usually leaves the skating up to the younger trolls, who are small and quick and can fly up the wings in the blink of an eye, surprisingly nimble on their heavy feet, while Kristoff's lucky if he doesn't manage to trip over his toe picks when he tries to gain the line.

But unfortunately for him, the girl he loves seems to have some moral objection to entering the defensive zone, so Kristoff grits his teeth and skates like he's never skated before, deking and dangling and somehow managing to skate past the trap the trolls use so often, turning and firing the puck off to Anna as she grins at him, eyes wide and adoring, the puck neatly hitting the tape on her stick.

_That's my girl,_ he thinks, staring after her admiringly as she starts up, just a touch awkwardly, and he gently checks Bulda as she attempts to skate past him.

"You _know _that's an illegal hit," his adoptive mother says, grinning at him.

"Yeah, and you know that's my girlfriend you're skating after up there."

"Still just a girlfriend, hm?" Bulda says, raising one rocky eyebrow and leaning against her stick. "When're you gonna make an honest girl out of her, Kristoff?"

"Mom, we're in the middle of a game here."

"Game nothing! This isn't a _game_."

"Yes, it is! Well, I mean, not the Anna thing, the _hockey _part… and, well, I'm _getting _to it, okay?" He huffs and runs one gloved hand through his hair before stars explode behind his eyes, the ice rushing up to meet him, and he distantly hears concerned yells and Bulda's voice at his ear and he thinks that fine, if she feels _that _strongly about it, he'll just ask Anna to marry him once he stops dying.

* * *

Kristoff wakes some time later, warm under a soft blanket of moss and a cool cloth on his forehead, and he blinks, his vision wobbly before his eyes finally settle on Anna sitting beside him, her hands clasped tightly around one of his, her eyes wide.

"Kristoff," she says, and she gives him a teary smile, "I was so worried about you."

"What happened?" he asks, and his voice is rough and groggy.

Anna's smile turns sheepish, and she blushes and looks away. "Well, um… I scored a goal." She turns back to him and grins.

"You did?" he tugs her hand and smiles weakly at her, pushing aside the blanket and tugging her against his chest. "That's great — your first goal, isn't it? Hope they let you keep the puck."

"Well…" she says hesitantly, "I, uh, kind of shot it… a little harder than I thought I could, and, um, we're not really sure where it ended up ricocheting after…" She gingerly touches his bandaged head and he winces at the familiar dull pain of bruised muscle.

"Grand-Pabbie gave you something," Anna says, gently stroking his forehead. "Said you should be fine in a few hours, no concussion." She smiles apologetically at him. "I guess I shouldn't have made you pass."

Kristoff leans up on his elbows, pulling her close. "You scored, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Did you win it for us?"

Anna pulls back, nodding up at him, failing to keep the smile out of her eyes.

He grins down at her before kissing her, ignoring the dull throb at his temple. "Worth it."


	4. Natural

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Elsa's never been good with babies, but somehow, without her much intending it to, everything changed.

**[ElsaxOC (mentioned), KristoffxAnna (implied), K, family] **

* * *

**"Natural"**

Elsa had never been particularly _natural _with babies, not since the first time after Anna was born, before anyone had quite learned to fear her touch, and her mother and father had placed baby Anna in her arms, milk-pale and freckled and _my,_ she was fat (she'd had far too much fun teasing Anna for that, years later, when their bond had long since been mended and Anna's son crawled between them on chubby, chubby legs).

Elsa had tipped baby Anna this way and that, inspecting her carefully, and her mother had rushed forward, told her to be careful and took her away, into her own arms, and then Anna had started wailing, full-throated and deep, as the queen rocked her gently and sang to her in a soft voice and Elsa felt dreadful that she had made the baby cry, not noticing the way Anna's tiny hands unclasped from her mother's and reached for her.

She'd been no better years later, when baby Joseff had been born, so afraid to touch him for fear that she'd see ice creeping along the edges of his soft skin beneath her fingertips, and she'd avoided him entirely until the day Kristoff thrust the baby into her arms and Anna had held them both together and they'd all cried just a bit too much, except for the baby, who had smiled at her with such warmth and love that she'd cried even harder.

By the time Heidi came, Elsa had grown a bit more practiced, more natural, after a few years of Joseff toddling about and smiling his gap-toothed grin as he launched himself into her arms, clambering onto her back and telling her to do the magic, giddyap! as she skated them around the halls and didn't bother to hide her smile (his laughter sounded so much like Anna's and oh gods, he was just perfect).

Heidi was smaller than her brother, but she looked so much like Anna that the old fears returned, memories of Anna's infant wails in her ears, and it was Joseff who burst into her study and grasped her by the hand, pulling her along as fast as his little legs could carry him to show her his new baby sister and wasn't she _weird_-looking, Aunt Elsa?

"Well, I _do_ think she looks just like your mother," she'd said, gently lifting Heidi out of the cradle and holding her close, grinning as Anna stuck her tongue out at her.

And it was strange, pleasantly so, just how natural Heidi felt in her arms.

But that was how things were supposed to be. Anna was the one who'd fallen in love and married (unconventionally so, perhaps, at least for a princess, but her brother-in-law was a kind, brave man who loved Anna and his children and, yes, even his somewhat aloof sister-in-law fiercely and fully, and he appreciated her magic more than perhaps anyone), and it was Anna who had borne two beautiful, bonny children, chubby-cheeked and adventurous and terribly, terribly spoiled (Anna insisted that Kristoff was the more indulgent parent, while Kristoff rolled his eyes and pointed out that Anna was the one who always let them stay up past their bedtime, and neither of them knew that there was a local toymaker who had a very generous line of credit and a standing weekly order from the queen).

And Elsa… Elsa was the Snow Queen. Untouchable. Transcendent. Perceived as distant, perhaps justifiably so, in all but her laughing, delighted interactions with her small, growing family.

At least until Eirik had joined her advising staff.

He was tall, blond, broad, and just a little awkward, excellent at diplomacy and trade negotiations, and he was completely in love with her.

Elsa had pretended not to notice.

And pretended quite successfully for three years, as he stood dutifully by her side, never pushing, never making his feelings known, forever loyal and deferential to the queen, even as he failed to keep the faint warmth from his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.

She demonstrated her powers during a trade meeting, freezing her desk solid beneath her palms, attempting to scare him off.

He asked kindly if she was cold, offered his jacket.

She fired him twice.

He bowed deeply, thanked her for the opportunity to serve her, and hesitated, just for a moment, before making his way to the study doors.

The first time she called him back before he could reach them.

The second time she kissed him.

When they married the following winter, snowflakes catching in her hair and veil, she hadn't been sure anyone could possibly cry harder than Anna, but he certainly came close.

It wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was better.

Just like the sleeping baby in her arms, beautiful and pale as she snuffled into her blankets, cheeks rosy, tiny fists clenched, and she was almost too exhausted to cry. Almost.

Anna appeared in the doorway to her room, her hands held tight to her mouth as Kristoff stood at her side, Heidi sleeping against his shoulder, holding one of Joseff's hands.

"Can we have another one?" Anna asked, turning to her husband, eyes bright.

"Here," Kristoff said, smiling and shrugging his shoulder in a vague gesture towards their sleeping daughter. "You hold this one and then ask me."

Anna laughed and lightly smacked Kristoff on the chest before crossing over to Elsa's bedside, resting her chin on the mattress and staring at the baby.

"Hi," Elsa said quietly, shifting the baby in her arms, warm and soft and sleepy.

"She's fat," Anna said, a mischievous grin spreading across her pert features.

Elsa laughed as Anna climbed up beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders, and as Joseff ran over and climbed up between them, Eirik appearing at the open door with tears in his eyes, exchanging a firm handshake with Kristoff, her baby warm in her arms, everything felt perfectly, wonderfully natural in a way that it never had, in a way she had never dreamed it could be.


	5. In Context

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: in which Anna may or may not conduct herself properly, Elsa may or may not be overprotective of her baby sister, and Kristoff may or may not look completely ridiculous.

**[KristoffxAnna (implied), Elsa POV fic, T, humor]**

* * *

**"In Context"**

The candle burns low, and Elsa's eyes are so heavy she can barely keep them open as her head dips down against the book in her hands.

She stretches lightly, setting the book against her nightstand, and runs her fingers through her unplaited hair. As queen, of course she can stay up as late as she wishes, but her sense of responsibility is far too strong for her to linger too far into the night.

Elsa fetches her robe from the nearby chaise and wraps it tightly around herself, far more out of propriety than any real sensitivity to the cold evening air, and opens the door to her room, slipping quietly into the hall. Anna will still be awake, as she always is, for Elsa to bid her goodnight — her younger sister is far more of a free spirit, and even with appointments and engagements set in the early morning hours will roam about the castle halls, entertaining herself well into the wee hours of the night.

Although that was certainly preferable to… other things.

Elsa smiles lightly to herself as she passes Kristoff's room — or, well, the room that had been given to him, after much protest and hesitation. The man was most certainly the humble sort, not easily given to accepting gifts, and Elsa had watched him carefully the day she had offered it, having only recently learned of his relatively… unstable housing situation, and he'd stammered and attempted to politely refuse while remaining deferential, and it'd only been after Anna had turned to him, doe-eyed and pleading and didn't he _want_ to be closer to her that she'd seen hearts in his eyes and he'd finally, finally relented.

It isn't that she objects to Anna's relationship with Kristoff — to the contrary, after the… _incident _with Hans, she's quite pleased to see her sister taking a more measured approach, even with as kind a man as Kristoff… but there _is_ the question of propriety, and discretion, and those have never been Anna's strong suit.

They're very, very careful around her, just light hand-holding and the odd chaste kiss within her view, but she's heard rumors from a few trusted servants about… _suspicious_ noises coming from Anna's room at night, from the laundress about rather large fingerprints on Anna's skirts, and Anna seemed to have suddenly acquired a rather large collection of scarves.

And, of course, most damning of all, when she'd asked Anna about it, her sister had denied everything, but lightning-quick and with a blush that Elsa was sure would have gone down to her neck if she could have seen it (and she'd wondered what _else _she would have seen).

_They're in love,_ she tells herself, and she's happy for Anna, but she _is_ a princess, after all, and is expected to conduct herself…

"…I'm really not sure about this, Anna."

Elsa stops a short distance away from Anna's door as Kristoff's voice sounds beyond it, hesitant and unsure.

"You _promised _me," she hears Anna say in a teasing voice. "If you think I'm not getting my hands on you this time, you are_ sadly_ mistaken."

"…I just don't know if it's a good idea. I mean, I've never even _done_ this before."

"Well, neither have I… well, not with you, anyway."

_Wait, __**what?**_ Elsa thinks, eyes wide, carefully pressing her ear to the door.

"I promise I won't hurt you," Anna says, voice gentle.

"That's not what I'm worried about. I'm more worried about looking completely ridiculous."

_That is going to be the __**least**__ of your worries,_ Elsa thinks in Kristoff's direction, mentally wondering how much he'll enjoy how he looks when he's encased in ice.

"It'll make me happy…" Anna says coyly.

Kristoff sighs. "And believe me, that's the only reason I'm doing this, Anna."

"Okay," Anna says. "Now just… lie back."

"Like this?"

"No, a little over… mm… perfect."

Kristoff makes a short noise of pain. "Can you not… grab so hard?"

_Oh dear __**God.**_

"Sorry. I'll be gentle. Sensitive, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

_Okay, that's enough, _Elsa thinks, moving her hand down to the doorknob.

"Hmm… this is shorter than I thought it would be. I hope it's not a problem."

"It should work fine."

"I hope so."

_…that is __**MORE **__than enough. _

"No one is working_ anything_," Elsa says firmly, the doorknob freezing beneath her hand as she flings the door to Anna's room open, eyes narrowed accusingly, fully prepared to freeze her sister's paramour to within an inch of his life.

Kristoff's eyes are wide in fear as he sits stock-still on Anna's bed, Anna up on her knees behind him, her hands tangled in his hair, the beginnings of a neat French braid between them.

"…hi, Elsa," Anna says, raising a curious eyebrow. "Uh… are you okay?"

Elsa stares at her, at Kristoff's terrified features, at his extremely mussed hair, at their fully-clothed forms.

And she bursts into full-throated laughter, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

Kristoff drops his face into his hands.

"I knew it," he mutters, and Anna grins and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Elsa composes herself, folding her hands neatly into her lap, clearing her throat. "Excuse me," she says primly. "I… just wanted to wish you goodnight, Anna," she says, nodding. "And… to you as well, Kristoff."

"Thank you, your majesty," Kristoff says, not moving his hands away from his face, voice muffled.

"You look very handsome," Elsa says, unable to resist.

"…thank you."

Elsa manages to keep her laughter in check as she exits the room, shutting the door behind her, lip folded in against her teeth against a grin.

"That was close," she hears Anna say. "Now we can get back to what we were _actually_ doing."

Elsa ducks down and presses her fingers against the keyhole, smiling to herself at Anna's resulting yelp.

"Ow, that's _cold, _Elsa!"

She chuckles to herself as she makes her way back to her bedroom.

Oh, how she'd missed having a sister.


	6. Rockabye Baby

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristoff and Anna babysit the younger trolls one night, and she's far less of a natural than she'd thought.

**[KristoffxAnna, K, humor/romance]**

* * *

**"Rockabye Baby"**

There's a troll baby crying at her, and Anna doesn't know how something that sounds like wet gravel grinding can sound so _plaintive_, and she shifts the baby's substantial weight in her arms and calls for Kristoff in a panic.

"What's wrong?" he asks, glancing down at her in concern, a group of little trolls running behind him, falling all over themselves and calling out for his attention.

"It won't stop_ crying_," she says, the word sounding far more desperate than she'd intended it to, but then the baby wriggles in her arms and she nearly _drops _it and that's the last thing she needs on her very first babysitting job (even though, really, it's made of _rock, _how much damage could she really do?).

Kristoff smiles affectionately at her and ruffles her hair, leaning down to take the baby from her, easily supporting its massive weight as its tiny slate-gray hands flail and he settles it into his arms with practiced ease.

"They're a little grumpy when they're this little," he says, offering Anna an apologetic smile. "Try not to take it personally."

"I didn't realize that even the babies would be that heavy," Anna says, smiling weakly and curtseying as a little girl troll reaches up and hands her a flower.

"Told you to lift with your legs, didn't I?" Kristoff smirks at her, wincing as the baby clutches at one of his fingers. "Okay, little guy, you're gonna have to be careful with those," he says, and the baby laughs as he lightly tickles its side. "See, there you go, that's much better. You need to be that nice with Auntie Anna over there, okay?"

Anna watches him, a strange, affectionate warmth spreading through her as she watches Kristoff tickle the baby, moving one hand down to play with its toes. "You're really good with kids," she hears herself say, and she can hear the smile in her voice.

Kristoff looks up at her, a sheepish smile on his face. "Lots of practice," he says. "I mean… I know a lot of people would probably think it's not the same as human kids and all…"

"That's not what I was thinking," Anna says, suddenly averting her gaze. "That's not what I was thinking at all."

Kristoff's eyes are soft as he stares at her. "I know," he says, and there's something in his voice she can't begin to identify. "Here," he says, and her eyes widen as he very gently places the troll baby back into her arms. "Just watch the head… here…" He moves one of her arms into a firm support position. "There you go. See? You're a natural."

"With you helping me, at least," Anna says, and she can't help but smile as the baby nuzzles against her chest, and okay, it's certainly not a _conventional _baby, but it's still quite cute.

"We'll figure it out together," Kristoff says, and he blushes suddenly, looking from Anna to the baby, then to anywhere that isn't her. "Uh… I didn't mean it like… not that I don't… it's…"

Anna leans up to kiss his cheek, carefully shifting the baby's weight. "We'll figure it out together," she repeats, curling up against his chest. "Someday."

He presses a kiss to her hair, one arm wrapping tight around her and the baby.

"I'm okay with someday," he says.


	7. Line of Sight

**A/N: **[15-minute fic challenge] Anna's not quite comfortable with being seen.

**[KristoffxAnna, M for sexual content, romance]**

* * *

**"Line of Sight"**

They've made love half a dozen times now, slow and soft, with a perfect frisson of impassioned intensity just at the edges, all curved hands and arched spines, warm lips in all kinds of wonderful, sundry places.

But Anna insists on keeping the lights low, and finds her eyes falling shut even when she's not overtaken by stirrings of pleasure.

Kristoff never questions it — he's indulgent with her almost to a fault, always willing and ready to provide anything she wants, and he mostly manages to keep the disappointment out of his eyes when she asks him to douse the lights.

"I just want to be able to see you," he says one night, after, lips pressed in a comforting kiss to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, "if you're comfortable with it. You're beautiful, Anna, I swear."

But Kristoff's never been the awkward, graceless _extra_, and Anna looks at his firm muscles, the delicious width of his shoulders, the warmth in his eyes, and she feels strangely, stupidly self-conscious. Everything about her feels small and inauspicious, and her hips are probably too bony and her breasts are little more than meager handfuls (although, she admits, it is delightful to feel Kristoff's hands on her) and even when she tries (and oh, how she's tried, swinging her hips and biting her lip and attempting to don the trappings of a coquettish vamp), Kristoff laughs, albeit warmly, and tells her how adorable she is, and it's hard being firmly set in "adorable" when Anna wants so badly to be attractive, _desirable_. She wants Kristoff floored, openly lustful, desirous.

But she's just… well, Anna. Cute. Adorable. Awkward. Nothing like the curvy, long-limbed, buxom women in the marketplace all the men seem to openly stare after.

(True, Kristoff always seems to very obviously have eyes only for her and her decidedly _un-_buxom form, but, well, Kristoff is weird.)

Anna's anxiety grows to the point that she even wants the curtains closed against the moonlight, wants to be wrapped around Kristoff only beneath the warm, protective shield of blankets, wants Kristoff's face turned against her neck so he can't see that her eyes are closed, can't cast his eyes over what she's sure is her somewhat lacking body.

Until one night, normal, unassuming, the same as always — Anna's room is dark as Kristoff gently presses her back against the bed, his hands curved around her hips as he moves deeply within her, her head turned against the pillows, eyes shut, content to just feel, just…

"…Anna."

Kristoff's voice is soft, gentle, and then his hand is curved around her cheek, tilting her face to meet his, his other hand slowly pushing the blankets aside.

Slowly, very slowly, with a tremor of fear curled tight in her belly, Anna opens her eyes.

Kristoff's eyes are dark as they meet hers, heavy with desire, but soft and warm and fairly shining with love as he caresses her face, strokes one hand down her side, over the too-bony curve of her hip, the too-small swell of her breasts, and he looks at her like she's the single most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

And in that moment, every ounce of fear she's had dissipates like a fine summer mist.

Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Anna keeps her eyes on his and reaches up to press one hand to his cheek, lips turning up into a teary smile as he clasps it in his own.

She keeps her gaze steady on his as they move together, as they grasp and sigh and cling, until Kristoff's lips are pressed firmly against hers, his fingers moving insistently between her legs as he trembles against her.

When she comes, his name on her lips, hers on his in an adoring, almost reverent whisper, Anna has never felt more beautiful.


	8. Lost and Found

**A/N: **Inspired by a Tumblr headcanon: "In continuation with the whole 'kidnapped by trolls' thing, Kristoff seemed pretty experienced when it came to wolves and how they attack. Maybe his parents were killed by them? That would make both his and Anna's parents killed by forces of nature, so to speak."

**[Kristoff & Sven backstory, K+, angst] **

* * *

**"Lost and Found"**

Mama holds him tight against her chest, her breath short and panicked as they stand amid a flurry of snapping teeth and low growls as they move closer, these hunched, slavering silhouettes, shadowed and long-limbed in the light of the overturned lantern, and he tries to turn his head, to find Papa, and his breath catches as he _sees_ because Papa is strong, Papa is brave, why is he _falling _like that…

One of the wolves darts forward, snaps its jaws and catches Mama's cloak, and she stumbles, hesitates, before running a hand through his soft blond hair and holding him so tight that it nearly hurts before she lifts him in one strong arm and _throws_ him, as he tumbles over and_ down_, down down down as the shadows descend behind him and he hears screaming and doesn't know if it's her voice or his, desperate and terrified as he tries to gain his feet, slips, falls, and he knows even before he tries to get back to her that it's too late.

The growls settle into a low, contented rumbling as the wolves dip their heads, flashes of bone-white teeth shining in the darkness, and he hears a sharp, sickening crack of bone echo through the still night air.

One of the shadows lolls its head towards him, levels him with hostile eyes glowing gold in the night, and he can barely see through his tears but he knows he has to _run_, between the dark, towering trees, over the snowpack, as fast as his legs can carry him but he's still so _little_ and he's still so awkward and graceless over ice and snow because Papa was supposed to teach him and take him harvesting when he was a little older, just a little, he'd promised, he'd _promised_…

The growls fade into the night, but still he runs, pushing his little boots through the snow, tears freezing against his cheeks, and he's crying and running because he doesn't know what else to do.

A dark shape rises up above him on the path, and he gasps, tumbles, falls as it lumbers towards him, and he inhales on a sharp, fearful, hiccuping sob and curls in on himself, ducks his head in against his chest and just waits for it, waits for it…

There's a gentle tug at his hair, a cold but friendly lick at his cheek.

He slowly opens one eye to see a baby reindeer standing over him, so young its antlers are still velvet nubs, and it blinks wide, soft-brown eyes at him.

"You're not a wolf," he says, obviously, voice rough with tears, and the reindeer tilts its head at him and takes a wobbly step before falling to its knees, and he gasps at the sight of the angry red bite marks along its flank, deep and awful.

"Did they get you, too?" he asks, hesitating before awkwardly patting the reindeer's neck, and it must be in pain but it nuzzles against him, and it's somehow enough, just enough to still his tears, just for now.

"Here," he says quietly, reaching down with his free hand to scoop up a handful of snow and press it carefully to the reindeer's wounds. It starts, frightened, hurt, but he talks to it quietly, reassuringly, and it settles, staring at him with expectant trust.

"Mama used to do this for Papa," he tells the reindeer, smoothing over the snow, "when he got hurt harvesting. Before they…" He can't say it, the images still pressing tight and vivid behind his eyes, and he turns his face in against the reindeer's fur, his small shoulders shaking with dry sobs.

The reindeer gently buts against his shoulder, and he raises his head, lips turning up into a small, teary smile as he rubs its neck comfortingly.

"Thanks, Kristoff," he says in what he imagines would be the reindeer's voice, and his own voice is weak and rough from crying but it helps, just a little, to have a friend. "That feels a lot better."


	9. A Life of Ice

**A/N: **Tumblr discussion — would Anna have been saved if Kristoff reached her and kissed her, if it had to be an act of true love on _Anna's _part?

There are potentially two options: a beautiful, heartwarming one, and a heart-rendingly tragic one.

This is the latter.

**[implied Kristanna, K+ for thematic elements and major character death, tragedy/angst]**

* * *

**"A Life of Ice"**

Ice is his life.

It has been for so long, since he was little, since he was old enough to lift an ice gaff and feel the pull deep within his shoulders as he hefted a neatly-cut block from the frozen lake, proud, accomplished, finally _something_ other than dirty, orphaned, and poor, held on the fringes of society.

Until… her.

She changed everything.

She could have… changed so much.

He goes to the mountains the day after (he can feel his life divided now, clean as the ice he cuts, into Before Her and After Her), tries to forget, tries to pretend nothing's changed, nothing's happened, but the first push of the saw into the ice cuts through him and he starts, breath caught tight in his throat, heart pounding, vision fading.

And he's back on the fjord, the storm settling around them, fierce wind and blinding snow clearing a path to her, where she stands, hunched over, hands clutched to her chest, skin and hair snow-pale as her lips are moving and _he's_ moving, as fast as he can, his boots sliding over the ice as he quickly gains his footing and gains traction and gains_ speed_, and _Anna, __**Anna,**__ where is Hans, it must not have worked, have to save her, have to do__** something**__…_

He reaches her and catches her in his arms, and she's heavy with frost, snowflakes and fingers of ice creeping over her face, and she whispers his name in a dry, rough whisper, turns her eyes to him, and he chokes back a sob at the open love in her eyes and he doesn't even think, he doesn't even _hesitate_, he just wraps her in his arms and lifts her up and _kisses_ her, as hard and as deep as he can.

He's never even done this before, never kissed anyone, but if it was going to be anyone, let it be her, let it be _now_, and he's never, ever been a religious man but he prays, fervently, as he tangles his hands in her hair, the strands like frozen, brittle straw against his palms, and kisses her harder.

He pulls away, eyes desperate and pleading, and stares at her, just for a moment, not knowing if it's working, if it's _not_, how are they supposed to _know_…

"I love you," he says, truthfully, desperately, just to be sure, because she's still cold, so cold in his arms, and his heart plummets, and oh _god_, he wasn't… she wasn't…

"Thank you," she says, and she's crying crystalline tears, freezing on her cheeks, and her eyes are soft and sad and so very scared and he's never been more terrified and close to breaking in his life.

"Anna…" he says desperately, and he can't stop touching her, even as his skin seems to be freezing to hers, even as she turns paler, ice curving around her temples. "Anna, you can't… you _can't_…"

She smiles at him, just a little, and reaches up to touch his cheek as blue ice spreads out from her heart, across and over and _through_, and one last, meager breath frosts in the air between them.

And everything is silent. Still.

His heart seems frozen in place, as icy-solid as the girl in front of him, and he wonders, through a haze of tears, through the abject agony that seems to be tearing at him, if this is what it felt like for her.

He hears soft hooves behind him on the ice, but he barely notices as he gingerly runs his hands over her frozen cheeks, her frozen lashes, and he kisses her again, just to be sure, and again, and_ again_, over and over as his tears drip onto her frozen lips and Sven buts at his side, gently, sympathetically.

He finally turns away, places his hands on his knees and retches, because he let this happen, he could have done more, _could _he have done more, what did he do wrong, what did he _do_, why did he _leave_ her…

_She didn't die alone_, he tries to tell himself, but that's just admitting that she's _dead_ and he can't take it, he can't, and he's that little boy who watched his parents fall to the wolves again, who lost everything he'd loved in one heart-shattering moment, and he can't see, can't think, as he blindly hauls himself up into Sven's saddle and spurs him on, away, desperate to run, to escape.

Sven, perhaps understanding, breaks into a gallop and obliges.

* * *

The memory ends on a sharp gasp, and he realizes he's leaning hard against his saw, concerned voices around him, Sven nudging at his side, and he knows that he's crying.

"It's nothing," he sniffs in what he hopes is a manly way. He's never cried before in his life, and he's not going to start now. He's loved and he's lost, it'll be okay. He'll be fine. Really.

The other harvesters shrug and turn back to their work, but then they've never been much for feelings, and neither had he.

Until her.

He can't focus, not at all, and it's a dangerous thing on the mountain, but he can't stop the memories, vivid and painful, and he can't stop _seeing_ her, and it was so wrong, so _wrong_ for her to be still and quiet like that, she should be vibrant and _alive_, even if it wasn't with him, even if he never saw her again as long as he lived, even if it had to be _him_ frozen and lifeless there on the fjord… it should have been him, it should have been _him_, anything to make her warm again… _anything_…

At midday, he finally drops the saw, stares out at the lake, and there's nothing but a deep, yawning emptiness in him as he observes the crisp, clean sheet of ice, the glittering snowpack, the frosted limbs of the nearby pines.

Ice was his life.

Until it took the one thing that had become more important than his own.

He turns, unthinking, unaware, and walks towards the forest.

Sven is beside him in an instant, braying in concern, eyes soft. He tries to smile, pats his flank.

"Reindeers are better than…" he starts, but his vocal chords can't seem to twist into the familiar shape of Sven's voice, and he stops, arms limp at his sides.

_Not better than her_, he thinks.

Nothing was better than her.

Nothing ever would be.

The harvesters watch them go, idly curious as they go about their work, the odd flash of concern carefully concealed beneath rugged stoicism.

They don't return that day.

Or the next.

Or again.


	10. Heartbeat

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Anna muses on when Kristoff holds her close and she listens to his heartbeat.

**[KristoffxAnna, T, romance]**

* * *

**"Heartbeat"**

Thump.

Thump.

Steady and even, a deep thrum against her ear, skin warm and smooth against her cheek, and Anna turns, just a little, lets her eyes fall shut on a contented sigh.

"What are you doing?" Kristoff asks, fingers twisting around a curling tendril of hair that's escaped from one of her braids (it's hard to keep everything neat and proper when just a few minutes earlier those same braids had been trailing beside her head and dragging over the sheets as she moved with him, under him, arms and legs entwined, breath and voices hushed).

"Just listening," Anna murmurs, nuzzling in and pressing a warm, sleepy kiss against his skin. She feels his pulse beneath her lips. Steady. Familiar. Comforting.

"Oh." Kristoff says it in that familiar voice, the one that implies that she's being weird again (she's always being weird, as far as he's concerned, but he's sweet enough to find it endearing).

"Have you ever listened to mine?"

The hand at her hair stills, just for a moment. "A few times," he says finally, and he's quiet. "Just… helps to remember sometimes. That it's still beating. You know. After that… one time."

Anna nods, brushing her forehead against his skin and trailing her fingers down her breastbone, resting over her heart. It's a healed wound, after all this time, but it's still weak and scarred and very much remembered, and Kristoff still wakes in the night sometimes, kisses her neck and touches her, reassuring and very, very warm.

"Thanks for keeping me warm," Anna says, and there's the slightest hint of mischief to it, even though she's tired and he's tired and they're both sweat-slicked and easy, sated, fulfilled for now.

Kristoff laughs, his broad chest quaking, and the pulse at her ear quickens just the slightest bit before he pulls her up to kiss her, slow and deep.

Her own heartbeat sounds in her ears. Steady. Constant. Warm.


	11. Snow Day

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristoff and Anna play in the snow with their children, and Aunt Elsa tags along.

**[KristoffxAnna (implied), K, family]**

* * *

**"Snow Day"**

"Are you ready?"

Anna is bright-eyed and smiling, even as she hefts baby Heidi's bundled form in her arms.

Elsa returns her smile, just a fraction, as she carefully eyes her niece. She's well-suited for the cold, and her cheeks are round and rosy as she stares out from within the fur-trimmed hood of her little baby cloak, laughing and reaching out towards Elsa with chubby, grasping hands.

"She's not even going to know what's happening," Elsa laughs, taking the baby from her sister and cradling her in her arms, gently tickling her cheeks.

"We can't leave her out! It's very important for babies to feel like they're included. Otherwise it hurts their self-esteem. Do you _want_ your niece to have low self-esteem, Elsa?"

Elsa rolls her eyes fondly and follows Anna's purposeful stride as they head out to the snow-covered courtyard (it's deep winter, not her doing, but the snow is deep and thick and heavy, perfect for play). Heidi laughs her adorable baby giggle and tries to grab Elsa's braid as a snow-covered Kristoff starts down the nearby hill, a large sled tucked under one burly arm and a limply-hanging toddler under the other. Joseff is hat-less and wearing only one mitten, his parka streaked with dirt and snow, and his father is shaking his head.

"What happened?" Anna asks, rushing over to her husband and small son.

Kristoff easily hefts the boy up in one arm. "So Joseff here," he says pointedly, and the boy shrugs and offers his mother a lopsided grin, "decided that 'hang on, wait until I say go before you start down on the sled' was just a suggestion."

"Oh dear," Elsa sighs.

"Just curious, Elsa, that new guy on your staff… the blond one…"

"Eirik," Elsa says.

"The cute one," Anna chimes in, and Elsa shoots her a pointed look.

"Anyway, uh, send him my apologies. If anything is, uh, broken."

"He jumped _real_ high," Joseff says, and smiles at Elsa, gap-toothed and baby-sweet and she can't help but smile back.

"Yeah, that'll happen when an out-of-control four-year-old comes barreling down on you," Kristoff deadpans, setting Joseff down and kneeling to look him in the eye. "You're gonna apologize later, okay, buddy? Remember, it's important to make sure that you're—"

Kristoff's words end abruptly as a snowball hits him square in the face, and he sighs in irritation, pushing snow out of his eyes with one glove, mock-glaring at Elsa.

She shakes her head, lips tilted in a smile, and raises her eyebrows, gesturing behind him.

Kristoff nods, grinning, and moves just in time to avoid Anna's throw, scooping up a handful of powder and stuffing it down the back of her parka.

"Kristoff!" she yelps, clawing frantically at her neck, and he laughs as he takes off running, dodging and weaving as he and Anna begin to exchange fire.

Elsa watches them fondly as Heidi gurgles and snuggles into her arms, and she feels a sudden rush of warmth, even here in the depths of winter.

Joseff brushes off his parka and comes to stand beside her, taking her hand with his unmittened one. "They're weird," he says, and he stares at her when she laughs, short and sharp.

"They are," Elsa says, squeezing his hand, "but they're _our_ weird."

Her smile fades as a snowball grazes her ear, and she turns her gaze towards the courtyard, where Kristoff and Anna stand, stock-still, pointing at each other with wide-eyed, terrified looks.

Elsa merely offers them a wicked smile, shifting Heidi's weight in her arms and conjuring a swirl of snowflakes in her palm.

"Are you ready?" she asks her niece and nephew, and when Joseff laughs and smiles, she's so overcome with love for her growing family that she almost decides not to throw the perfectly-formed snowball in her hand.

…almost.


	12. A Matter of Timing

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Anna and Kristoff start to worry that they can't have children.

**[KristoffxAnna, T, romance/humor/family]**

* * *

**"A Matter of Timing"**

A year into their marriage, and the brightly-colored nursery they'd decorated together was still empty.

Truth be told, Anna and Elsa had decorated it while Kristoff did most of the heavy lifting — they'd bonded over colors and paints and what kind of crib would be best for a baby, and they were so delighted and happy, their sisterly bond so evident and bright, that Kristoff hadn't had the heart to voice his concern that maybe, just maybe, they should hold off on this until there was actually a baby on the way.

But it was supposed to happen quick, Anna had insisted — Anna had wanted a baby almost since she'd been old enough to know what one was, and the first few weeks of their marriage had been something of a delicious blur of frenzied, passionate lovemaking.

But as the months passed and Anna's belly remained flat, it took on a desperate edge, and Anna worried her lip between her teeth, furrowed her brow, ran her small hands over her abdomen.

"Anna," Kristoff would say patiently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. You heard what the physician said, sometimes when you overthink things…"

"I'm not overthinking it!" she insisted, shrugging his arm from her shoulders and pouting. "How many times have we… _you know_?"

"Anna, we're married, I think you can just _say_…"

"Dozens! _Hundreds_! I should have _fifty_ babies by now! They should be all over the place!"

"Anna…" Kristoff started to roll his eyes but stopped when Anna's voice hitched in a short sob.

"What's _wrong_ with me?" she said, lower lip trembling, eyes filling with tears, and Kristoff pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back.

"Anna," he said gently, "there's nothing wrong with you. Sometimes it just takes _time_."

"But it's had plenty of time!"

"Well, apparently not enough!" Kristoff sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "And Anna, seriously, if… if it turns out there _is_ a problem, there are always other ways for us to have a baby."

Anna looked at him, and her eyes were soft and pained. "I don't want _a_ baby," she said, very quietly. "I want _your_…" Her voice trailed off, the words hanging heavy with meaning between them. _I want __**your**__ baby. I want a chubby-cheeked, big-nosed, too-responsible ice-obsessed blond-haired baby who'll drive me crazy and tell me I'm a weird mom and I'll love him more than anything on this earth because he's yours, __**ours.**_

Anna closed her eyes tightly and pressed her face in against his shoulder.

"You'd think we'd at least have had a scare by now," she mumbled. "I mean considering how many _times_ we've…"

Kristoff smiled and gently kissed her temple. "So the law of averages isn't working out. When have you _ever_ done anything 'average,' anyway?"

Anna lightly elbowed him in the ribs, but there was a hint if a smile at the corners of her lips.

"And," Kristoff said, nudging her nose with his, "we have plenty of time to keep trying. Really. Just because we don't have a baby _right now_ doesn't mean we never will. Okay?"

"Mmph."

"Okay?" he insisted, curving one hand around her cheek and tilting her face to meet his gaze.

"…okay," Anna finally acquiesced, leaning up to kiss him quickly. "But you'd better be right."

* * *

Two days later, Kristoff returned home from work to find Anna crying in Elsa's arms in the nursery, and his breath caught in his throat, blood turning to ice even beneath the thick hides of his harvesting gear, and he moved across the room in two quick strides.

"Anna," he said, glancing from her to Elsa, desperate, terrified, "Anna, what's wrong? What happened?"

He started when Elsa turned slightly teary eyes to him as well, gently nodding her head to the room, a smile spreading across her regal features.

Anna hiccuped through her tears as she clung to Elsa, turning her head to meet his gaze. "Kristoff," she said, grinning at him, teary-eyed and beautiful, her braids half undone, stray strands clinging to her damp cheeks. She laughed, reaching over with one arm to pull him into her embrace with her sister.

"Is… are…"

Anna nodded, laughing and crying and fairly jumping up and down in excitement.

Kristoff's arms came tight around her, all wonder and love wrapped in quickly-fading shock, and he felt Elsa's cool hand in his as he pulled them both close.

"…just saying, though," he murmured, close to Anna's ear, "I _was_ right."

"I'll let you have it," Anna said, and he could hear the grin in her voice around her tears. "Just this once."


	13. Serendipity

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristanna meet on the subway in NYC. I'm a country girl, and public transit still confuses the living hell out of me, so I took some brief liberties with this one and set it in a train station in my local city that I'm at least minorly familiar with.

**[modern!AU light KristoffxAnna, K, friendship]**

* * *

**"Serendipity"**

There are so many _people_, everywhere, all around her, talking and laughing and scowling and _moving_, and Anna doesn't know which way to turn or which escalator to take, and she'd long since lost sight of Elsa's platinum braid as she pushed her way through the crowd.

_I'm sorry, Elsa,_ she thinks, helplessly, turning this way and that, wringing her hands, ducking her face in against her scarf. Someone bumps her, yells something in a rough tongue she can't understand, and Anna stammers an apology, moves back sharply and into something very solid.

Something that is yelling in a tongue she _can_ understand, and the tips of her ears burn at the sound of the long line of curses.

Anna's eyes widen as she looks up (and up, and _up_) at quite possibly the tallest boy she's ever seen, grimacing and wiping at his shirt, glaring at her over the half-spilled cup of coffee in his hand. "Are you always this graceful?" he asks gruffly, eyeing her with distaste.

Anna winces, extracts a tissue from her purse and starts blotting at his shirt. "Sorry," she says, voice contrite. "Here, let me just…" She stumbles over something at her feet, and there's a sharp, awful _twang_, a crunch of wood, and she very slowly looks down to see her boot halfway through a guitar.

"Um…" Anna starts, offering him a bashful grin. "…oops?"

The boy's broad shoulders fall, and he chucks his coffee into a nearby trash bin, folds his gloved hands over his face and sighs.

"…I'll replace it," Anna says quickly. "And I'll buy you another cup of coffee. I promise."

The boy says nothing, just sighs into his gloves.

"I was just…" Anna worries her lower lip between her teeth, the memory of Elsa's terrified features flashing through her mind, and her shoulders slump. "I had a fight with my sister," she says, very quietly, "and she just… took off running and she must have grabbed one of the trains but… I've never…"

"Let me guess," the boy says flatly, brown eyes leveled at her as he tucks his hands into his pockets. "You're an uptown girl. Never taken the train in your life."

"Well… I mean, I've never had to. I have a driver. Well… I mean, not _me_, the house does… but he doesn't drive the _house_, that would be weird, he drives me, and, well, my sister sometimes but she doesn't really _go_ anywhere, except, for, well, now apparently. Kind of."

"Mm-hm."

"You, uh…" She glances from the boy's ruined shirt, to his equally-ruined guitar, and she hopes she looks sorry enough because she really, _really_ is. "…you wouldn't want to help a girl out, would you?"

The boy raises an eyebrow. "You," he points to her, then between his shirt and guitar, "want me to help you."

Anna's face falls, and she starts to extract her wallet from her purse. "I'm sorry," she says, and she suddenly finds herself trying not to cry, because it's not her fault Elsa didn't tell her her secret and it's not her fault she got upset and it's not _her_ fault that she's been alone for so long and doesn't even know where to go from here or what to _do_. "Here," she says, not quite looking, handing the boy a few bills. "That should… I think anyway, I don't… I don't even _know_ how much that stuff costs…"

The boy stares at her, at the outstretched bills, and sighs, folds her hand around them and pushes it back.

"Just leave it as an IOU for now," he says. "You can pay me back after we find your sister."

Anna can't help the smile that stretches across her face, and she suppresses the urge to hug him (he's actually rather handsome now that he's not scowling or openly exasperated, tall and fair, but he IS still a stranger after all, and, well, he doesn't look all _that_ clean). "Okay," she says, grinning and lightly knocking his shoulder. "I guess I'll let you tag along."

The boy laughs and rolls his eyes just a little. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Anna."

"All right, Princess Anna, follow me."

She falls into step beside him, and she barely comes halfway up to his shoulder (if nothing else, she feels far safer with him and his rather intimidating bulk beside her).

"Aren't you going to ask me what my name is?" the boy says sardonically, raising an eyebrow at her as they walk. "Didn't your parents warn you about strangers?"

Anna smiles, just a touch haughtily, and crosses her arms over her chest. "I already saw it on your coffee cup, _Kristopher_."

"Actually," the boy says, matching her smile, "it's Kristoff."


	14. The Sum of Her Parts

**A/N: **[100-word fic challenge] Anna is so much more.

**[KristoffxAnna, T, romance]**

* * *

**"The Sum of Her Parts"**

He tries to calm himself as his lips ghost over the line of her cheekbone, the fringe of her eyelashes, the hollow behind her ear.

_She's just people. _

As the pads of his fingertips trail over the skin of her throat, catch at her collarbone.

_Skin muscle bone sinew. _

As his lips follow the curve of her freckled shoulder.

_Normal. Normal._

As her pert, bowed lips breathe a dreamy sigh and press to his.

As she murmurs contentedly against him, nuzzles close.

As he tilts his head and breathes her in.

_Blood and bone._

_Heart and soul. _

_Anna._

_Not 'just'. _


	15. In Agreement

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristoff nervously asking Elsa for permission to date Anna.

**[KristoffxElsa BrOTP, KristoffxAnna (implied), K, family/friendship]**

* * *

**"In Agreement"**

There's a knock at the door of her study, too-loud and too-strong, followed by a muffled curse and a very, very soft knock, as if the hand behind it is unsure of its own strength, of exactly what politeness demands.

Elsa smiles, leaning back in her chair. "Come in, Kristoff."

The ice harvester appears in the doorway, twisting his cap in his hands. "Uh," he starts, wincing at the awkwardness of it. "Your maj… El… Queen. Queen Elsa." He starts to make his way across the room, stops, looks at her helplessly, starts to bow, stops again.

She knows why he's come, of course. The awkwardness, the scarcely-concealed terror, the trepidation of a man in love seeking favor that reminds her of nothing so much as a skittish horse.

It's infinitely more pleasant than the last one's self-assured arrogance, she thinks, steepling her fingers and resting her chin atop them as Kristoff finally walks over to her desk, standing before her, shoulders rounded and hunched, and he seems uncomfortable even in his own skin.

"Queen Elsa," Kristoff starts again, and he can't quite look at her, and amusement and sympathy war within her. She's come to like Kristoff rather immensely in the days and weeks that she's come to know him — he's a good, steady, honest man, awkward but genuine, unpolished yet true.

And he had helped Anna.

And that alone was worth his weight in gold.

"I… um… would formally like to ask…" Kristoff closes his eyes, exhales, clearly working up his courage, and she smiles at him, just a little, takes pity on him.

"Yes, Kristoff," Elsa says kindly, rising to her feet and walking around her desk to stand before him. "You may court my sister."

"…formally ask if I…" He's not listening, still concentrating on getting the words out, and she can see his hands shaking.

With a fond smile, Elsa gently sends a cool breeze through his hair, and he stops, looks at her.

"Wait…" he says, brow furrowed. "What?"

"I see my sister's already begun to exert some influence over you." Elsa tips her head to one side and neatly folds her hands at the front of her dress. "Yes, Kristoff. You and Anna are free to court." She frowns, slightly, just for a moment. "Or… date. Is that what they call it?"

"I… uh… I think 'court' is the formal one."

"You _did_ extend a formal request, didn't you?"

"Yes! I mean… I think I was supposed to, she _is_ a princess after all, and I…" He stops, sighs, drops his forehead into one hand. "I think you know what I'm trying to say."

"Indeed. Which is why I've already expressed my approval." Elsa hesitates slightly before laying her hand against Kristoff's broad forearm. "You're a good man, Kristoff. And you're good for her, I think. But she's been hurt. And she's been alone. A lot." Elsa's features are drawn and cloudy, tightly shut-off, and frost radiates from the palm she's laid across his arm. "Just be good to her, and take care of her."

Her eyes flick up to his, cold, pointed, and in that moment she is every inch a queen. "And remember who her sister is if you don't."

Kristoff looks down at the hand on his arm, at the creeping tendrils of ice across the fabric. "Would you hurt her?" he asks, very quietly.

Elsa narrows her eyes, the urge to retreat into herself, to hide, _conceal don't feel_ rushing through her, and it's a struggle to keep herself focused. "I already have," she finds herself saying, and she doesn't know why this simple, rugged man has drawn the words from her, raw and open, but they're true, and she knows it.

The ice against Kristoff's arm grows into small spikes, but he doesn't flinch.

"But you wouldn't again," he says, and Elsa pulls back from him, eyes open and pained.

"You can't know that," she says, voice tight.

"…I think I can."

"How?"

Kristoff takes a deep breath, and his eyes are steady on hers. "Because I saw you when she thawed out on the fjord." He shakes his head, just a little. "You're not going to hurt her. And you're never going to _let_ her get hurt again. And I can promise you this, Elsa. Neither will I."

She stares at him then, stammering awkwardness replaced by earnestness and a muted fire she sees as he holds his gaze to hers, formality suspended, leaving behind only two people with a shared love between them.

"I want to believe you," she says finally. "I think you'll show me that I should." She gently squeezes his arm, and the ice dissipates beneath her hand as she pulls it away.

"I'll try," Kristoff says, offering her a lopsided smile. "Queen Elsa."

It sounds too formal, too stiff on the lips of this man who already seems family, in some strange, interconnected way.

"Just Elsa," she says, and it brings a smile to her lips.


	16. Downfall

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristanna with jealous Hans.

**[KristoffxAnna, one-sided HansxAnna, K+, angst]**

* * *

**"Downfall"**

Hans can see them out past the docks from the confines of his cell (it's a brig, properly, he knows, and oh, how he'd so delighted in throwing his own men here for the slightest hint of disobedience or disrespect, when he was still an up-and-coming officer, when he still had a hope of something greater, of something _more_… but that was before Arendelle. Before _her_).

The man is gigantic and awkward, with a hint of shadow curving around his jaw, arms thick and broad, and everything about him screams _common_, but Anna's eyes are bright and excited as she fairly dances in place, holding his hand, and rage roils tight within him at her exuberance, her liveliness, free and open and obliviously mocking him from afar.

_If only you would have died when you were supposed to_, he thinks, darkly, but the press of anger in his chest is curving inward, towards himself, and he rests his forearms against his knees, stares balefully out at the two of them.

There's a sharp splinter of ice deep within his chest as the man picks her up, spins her around in delight. They're happy and awkward and blushing, just for a moment, and then they're kissing, soft, full, the man's arms tight around Anna's waist as he raises her up off her feet, holds her close, tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and Anna's hands stroke through his hair, soft and loving.

_If only there was someone out there who loved you._

Words coming back to haunt him, and there's something hollow and dark and angry in his chest as he closes his eyes, turns away, can't watch her burning-bright and full of love, held warmly within another man's arms.

_Oh, Hans,_ he thinks to himself, lips curling back into a mocking sneer, teeth bared, father mother brothers flashing through his mind, cruel, unyielding, sharp words slicing across him through the years, dismissal and neglect all coalescing, shrinking down and down and down into this tiny, darkened space behind thick iron bars.

_If only there was someone out there who loved __**you.**_


	17. The Hollow Man

**A/N: **Quick Hans character study, because why not.

**[Hans POV fic, T for disturbing themes and some non-con, tragedy/angst/horror]**

* * *

**"The Hollow Man"**

Everything is so very empty, has been for as long as he can remember.

When he's little, he tries to fill it with books, but there's a deeper truth to them that slips and slides away from him, and it angers him that he doesn't understand, and he throws them into the fire, watches them burn.

Tries to fill it with the warmth and love of a mangy dog that skirts along the edges of the estate when he goes hunting with his brothers (always placed as the last rider, at the rear of the pack, and no one says a word to him as they pursue the hind). He reaches for it, tries to pet it, but it nips at his horse's heels, bares its teeth at him, and trots happily up to run alongside his brothers, wagging its tail happily, and they laugh and toss him scraps from their lunch and it's not quite an accident when his crossbow bolt slices between its eyes.

Tries to fill it with women, as many as he can find, maids and serving girls and noblewomen, pushing them down and hoisting them up, and they call him _passionate _in breathless, sated voices but he doesn't much care about _them_, he likes the ones that struggle when he presses them down and holds a hand tight to their mouths. Likes the fear in their eyes. Likes the power, surging through him, ghosting through the empty spaces, just for a moment.

Tries to fill it with dreams of gaining the throne, somewhere, anywhere, but offering the thirteenth prince of a kingdom is nearly a diplomatic insult, and his brothers sneer, maybe he'll get some broken-down spinster noblewoman somewhere, and even she'll outrank him, _everyone does, _and the empty spaces fill pleasantly with the crack of bone and the smear of blood over his knuckles, and he doesn't even hear the shouts, furious, indignant, over the slow boil of _power _settling deep in his bones.

He's so close to filling it when he sails north, meets a desperate princess, and it's just a matter of time, just a matter of time as he locks the door behind him, hears her dove-soft cries for help, ignores them and adopts the facade of a grieving lover.

_Arendelle looks to you._

The crown is just moments away, inches. Power, wealth, _respect_, that hollow place finally filled in, the emptiness disappeared and finally brought to heel.

It fails. _He _fails.

At the end of the journey, he's dragged home in chains, with a deep, yawning void deep in his chest.

Wonders if it ever would have disappeared entirely, even with the crown. The power. The _respect_.

Wonders as the trial commences.

Wonders as sentence is pronounced, as his brothers regard him levelly, sternly.

Wonders as he refuses the hood, the blindfold, as the rope is fitted around his neck, and he casts his eyes out to the castle, to the rolling green of the landscape, out to the sea.

Wonders, just briefly, if anything ever could have…

It's the last thing he ever thinks.


	18. Scene from a Lonely Childhood

**A/N: **Tumblr prompt: Kristanna childhood AU.

**(Hints of childhood KristoffxAnna, K+, friendship) **

* * *

**"Scene from a Lonely Childhood"**

It's in the first months without Elsa, and Anna's room is still too big and too quiet and too _empty_, and she wakes early and pads her way down to the kitchens, stumbling over the stairs and humming lightly to herself.

Someone is arguing, an irritated alto mixing with a very _young_-sounding voice, and Anna peeks through the door and sees one of the maids arguing with a young boy, blond hair disheveled and falling into his eyes, and the maid looks entirely unmoved by his gestures.

"I don't care if they sent you down, boy," the maid says sharply, "go and fetch a grown-up to conduct business properly and we'll see about buying your ice."

"But it's right _there_!" the boy says, gesturing to the door behind him. "It's perfect quality, I promise, I cut it myself!"

"A scrap of a thing like you? I'll box your ears for lying in this kitchen, boy."

The boy is somewhere between fuming and crying, tears rising above deeply-flushed cheeks, and Anna feels her heart turn over for him (she's never been able to see anyone cry, even a stranger), and she pushes the kitchen door open.

"Hi," she says, waving politely at the boy.

He glances to her, eyebrows raised, and the maid cuffs him sharply on the back of the head and pushes him into a bow. "Princess Anna," she says with a deferential curtsey. "Is there something I can fetch you, dear?"

"What's he here for?" Anna asks, pointing to the boy.

"Selling ice," the boy says, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to look nonchalant. "'m a harvester."

"That sounds fun!"

He levels her with a flat stare, and her smile slips just a fraction. "It's _work_," he says. "But this _lady _won't buy my ice from me."

Anna turns to the maid, wide-eyed. "Why?"

The maid twists her hands in her apron, looking around the kitchen for another hand to help. "Well, princess, ah, the economics of the kitchen are, uh…"

Anna pads silently over to stand beside the boy, nose wrinkling slightly as a heady barn-smell hits her. "_I'll _buy your ice," she says proudly, clasping her hands behind her back.

The boy scoffs, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Princesses don't have money."

Anna's face falls. "Oh," she says, biting her lip. "I didn't know it needed money."

"Princess…" the maid starts, reaching over to take her by the shoulder and move her away.

"I like ice," Anna says suddenly, and her voice is soft, confused. "A lot. I don't know why. I think it… it was fun." Her brow furrows, something hazy and familiar at the edges of her memory slipping away from her, and she shakes her head, feeling something slip behind one braid, and she grins, reaches up and extracts a hairpin.

"What about this?" she asks, still grinning.

The boy raises an eyebrow at her. "It's just a hairpin," he says.

Anna's face falls, lowering her outstretched hand. "Sorry," she says quietly, and her bottom lip trembles a fraction.

She starts as the boy's gloved hand takes hers, just for a second, just to pluck the hairpin from her palm.

"Good enough," the boy grumbles, sliding the pin beneath the sash wrapped tightly around his tunic. "Probably worth something."

His eyes widen as Anna laughs and takes his hands, lightly spinning him around, and it's nice to have a friend, just for a minute, even one who's looking at her like she's slightly crazy, even as he faintly, begrudgingly starts to smile.


End file.
